People ask “If you could do anything, anything at all, what would you do?” Now how loaded a question is that? One must have the means to do what they want. One must know what one wants. My knee-jerk response? Travel the world alone hopefully with enough cash to stay some place with a bed and a bath. First off I have child. I cannot abandon her. Dream gone. End of story. (I would have said with my family, husband and daughter but that is in dissolve.)
Second response: learn to play guitar better and sing but not alone, with help. Money? Third response: write with some formal instruction.
Fourth teach: anything art, music, English, to smile, to not take it so seriously - like I do (take it too seriously). To let it happen. Have fun, learn what you need. Learn a good trade that pays well; then do what you want in between. Don’t get married. Fight for what you believe in. Freedom, healthcare, mutual respect and love.
If I could do anything? It’s such a non question. When I think about doing anything I have to do, I shrink. I react like a child with no instructions even though I know how.
What do you want to do? Anything? It’s a silly question. I want to be odd like Warhol and change the face art. I want to say the truth without being punished. I want others to say the truth without being punished.
What’s a job? A piece of shit thing you do to make money to survive. Sometimes you luck into one you like. Some people are paid exorbitant amounts of money for the most obscenely menial task. Wage distribution in this world is worthy of chronic vomiting. That’s not hyperbole! A maid can take home more than a man who was worked 14 hours in a field picking cotton. She $25 an hour, he $25 a day. It’s fucking ridiculous. Money isn’t the wage it’s the game. I hate the game. Worse I hate the game of life itself. What’s it worth? Without being a teacher or a mentor or doing some form of helping another individual it’s pointless.
I hope I’m helping my daughter. I’ve taken’ a bit of a break lately. Not completely, but I’m not feeling like have much to give. What do you give when you have nothing? No one understands how I got here. One minute I’m attending PTA meetings, working fulltime and singing on the weekends. Nothing could be better. Of course I can’t forget the alcohol that contributes to it all. Life’s a party. Little things tear me down along the way. They strip me of my humanity. I become a shell. A brilliant shell. One that performs all the tasks required. One that knows what is right and wrong. One that knows how to advance oneself. One that knows how to encourage others. One that knows to say “you’re right, I’m wrong, I’m sorry” “Oh how silly of me your way is better” “I can’t imagine why I thought to do it that way.” “No, no you’re right.” Suddenly there’s no one there, just a stepford thing. A brilliant shell, because it knows how. It knows the way it’s done what to follow what to say. However, the person I was inside is dead and now I’m plotting my mortal death. I quit drinking. My energy is slipping. My old self who was clearly wrong has become fragile. I see a psychiatrist – meds galore. I see a therapist. People notice I’m needy and shy away. Some make fun of me. Some ignore me. Some come to my aid. (Thank you). Hollow eyed and struggling to do this on my own. I will either die or come back. I cannot say.